


All of the Stars

by Munya Enany (blackbeakk)



Category: Throne of Glass - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basketball AU, F/M, High School AU, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbeakk/pseuds/Munya%20Enany
Summary: When Sam Cortland died in a tragic accident and Aelin couldn’t bear to continue playing, the Rifthold Ramblers were left without pointguards for either team. But can new kids Rowan Whitethorn and Nesryn Faliq save the Ramblers, or will they take them further down?





	1. Prologue

Aelin flopped down onto the grassy hill and shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. “I can’t believe we have school. Tomorrow,” Lysandra groaned beside her. “The end of junior year feels like yesterday.”

Nehemia laughed and lay down next to her friend. “You can talk Miss ‘I spent the entire summer in Paris on invitation to an elite music program.’ The rest of us spent the the past two months walking around the same places every day.” 

“Not all of us,” Lysandra said coyly.

Aelin sat up, pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. “Don’t you dare go where I think you’re going.” Lysandra giggled and grinned slyly as Aelin continued, “I do not want to hear details about what you and Aedion - my cousin who I have to live with in case you forgot - got up to all summer.”

Lysandra whacked Aelin playfully and tied her dark black hair up. “Shut up. Don’t act like you weren’t gushing to Nehemia every time you and Chaol -

“Uhm objection your honour, we agreed to never talk about that again,” Aelin interrupted her friend quickly, not wanting to delve into the subject any further. 

Through the bright sunlight, Nehemia spotted their friends approaching. The three girls stood up, brushing the dirt and grass from their legs and headed towards their friends on the other side of the park. 

Dorian was the first one that Aelin saw, and immediately ran towards. After all, she hadn’t seen everyone in eight weeks. 

After giving him a hug that could’ve broken a rib, she punched him in the arm. “Ow!” He rubbed his arm where she had hit him. “What was that for?” 

“That,” Aelin said, crossing her arms, “was for not telling me that you read The Night Circus while I was gone.” Dorian laughed and rolled his eyes. “I found out through your Snapchat story. Your Snapchat story! I thought we were closer than that!” Dorian would later say that he wasn’t scared of her when she was angry, but when you know Aelin as well as he did, you’re probably better off being scared when you piss her off. Even if it is about a book. 

Behind her, Aedion tugged on her hair to get her attention. She turned around so fast that Dorian got a mouth full of blonde hair when she did. “You weren’t even going to say hi to your favourite cousin? You got back last night and I didn’t even see you?” Aedion cast a hand over his chest in a fake wounded expression. 

Lysandra slapped him. “You didn’t see her because you were out all night practicing your free throws you idiot.” Aelin was glad to see that not much had changed in their dynamic even after her best friend and cousin started dating. 

“Were you going to start the party without us?” Somebody called from behind the group. Chaol turned around to see a very happy Elide on a less happy Lorcan’s back. Manon was trailing behind them along with Connal, Vaughn, Fenrys and Gavriel. Elide had her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted again, “we brought popsicles!” 

Chaol stared in disbelief. “Nobody is that happy the day before school starts.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Since when is Elide like everyone else?” she says before pushing past him and Chaol and heading towards the approaching additions to the group. 

Manon, like always, dressed to intimidate. Her white hair was pulled into two braids and she wore a white crop top paired with a short leather skirt. As Dorian had put it the first time he’d seen her ‘she looked like she’d fuck the shit out of you and then murder you afterwards. And you’d let her.’

Elide hopped off of Lorcan’s back and ran towards Aelin. Dorian, Chaol, and Aedion greeted Lorcan, Fenrys, Connal, and Vaughn with the customary handshake- hug hybrid that guys always do. 

“Hey, I think I might’ve found you guys a new pointguard.” Lorcan said to them once they’d caught up. 

Aedion’s eyes lit up. “Do tell.”

Lorcan scratched his head. “Do you guys remember a couple of years ago when that Whitethorn kid from Toronto got invited to play for team Canada?”

Chaol nodded. “Yeah, he turned them down. I remember. What’s that got to do with our team though?”

“Him and I were pretty close back in middle school, before I moved here.” Lorcan continued cautiously. 

Dorian laughed. “Hey Aedion do you need me to pick up your jaw from the floor for you?”

“Shut it. This is a big deal.” Aedion snapped. 

“Anyway,” Lorcan said loudly, “he just moved here last week, and I invited him to come meet everyone, cause the guy doesn’t know anyone in town.”

“Well?” Aedion demanded, “where the fuck is he?” 

A white haired male approached. “Talking about me already Lorcan?” Chaol’s eyes went as large as saucers and Dorian looked him up and down. The guy stuck out a hand to Aedion. “Rowan Whitethorn. I hear you’re in need of a pointguard?”


	2. chapter one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in honour of the first day of school

Aelin Galathynius hated alarms. They were loud, annoying, disruptive, but most of all, they never fucking work. She’d tried everything; music, a recording of Aedion’s voice, a fire alarm - this one scared her mom so badly that she ran out of the house clutching her most prized possession - a boxed set of all seasons of Gilmore Girls. Aelin had even tried one of those vibrating things that you put under your mattress. Nothing worked. So it was no surprise really when she woke up to Aedion banging pots and pans in her room singing the words, ‘SENIOR YEAR STARTS TODAY’ over and over again. It was even less of a surprise that the time was half past seven ( 10 minutes before she and Aedion would have to leave if they wanted to make it in time for first period.)

To make matters worse, her first class was P.E. With Mr. Finn, no less. Having to run around at eight am is bad enough, but being taught by the guy you had a crush on back in freshman year was too much. Not to mention the reputation he has for getting involved with students. 

Aelin forced herself to get out of bed and put on the outfit she’s prepared last night - she had known that despite her best efforts, the seven alarms that she’d set probably wouldn’t work. Over the years, she’d found a perfect balance between looking great and looking like she doesn’t care. 

After pulling her hair into a messy ponytail, Aelin headed downstairs, grabbing her jacket and shoes while Aedion tosses her a bagel. She caught it with one hand. “Somebody’s ready for tryouts,” she said to him lightly as he pulled on an army green jacket and opened the door. 

“You can admire my amazing skills later.” He took a bite out of his own bagel. “For now, let’s go. The sooner the first day starts, the sooner it ends.”

Aelin followed him out the door eating her bagel quickly. “Words to live by.”

_

“Welcome to grade 12 Physical Education!” Mr. Finn said loudly - too loudly, for a group of teenagers who had just rolled out of bed. “I know most of you, I’m not sure if you know each other, and if I’m being honest, I don’t really care,” the students exchanged glances. Archer Finn was the teacher who walked the fine line of being nonchalant and being annoying. And unprofessional. He continued, “we will be starting with the volleyball unit. With a partner you will be playing a warm up game called ‘pepper’. The first partner will toss it to the other, who will bump it back. The first will then volley it over, and the second will spike it. Please do not spike it too hard, I have seen people get hit in the face and it’s not pretty. Whitethorn, Galathynius - you’re partners. Your partners today will be your partners whenever you need one - unless I say otherwise. You two can start at the back of the gym.” He tossed a ball at Rowan and he caught it, then walked over to where Aelin had situated herself. 

“Hey,” Rowan announced himself as he approached her. If he was being honest, she scared him. A lot. He’d seen her go from playful friend to cold as stone when he’d mentioned to her yesterday that he was going to try out for the Rifthold Royals. It was like somebody flipped a switch on her. 

Aelin turned around, her ponytail swinging slightly as she did. “You any good at volleyball?” 

Rowan threw her the ball. “Nah. I know the basics - like bumping and setting and all that shit - but basketball has always been my sport. You?”

Aelin didn’t answer his question. “You can start. Get ready.”

Rowan obliged, bending slightly in case she threw it too low. Aelin tossed him the ball and he bumped it high above her head. As she set the ball to him he tried again, “do you play any sports?” He spiked it and she dove. 

Once she’d bumped it back she answered, “used to play basketball. Same club you’re trying out for.”

They continued like this, talking in between hits. 

Set. “Why’d you stop?” 

Spike. “None of your business.”

Dive. Bump. “Did you get injured?”

Set. “Nope.”

Spike. “Did you get cut?”

Bump. “Of course not.”

Set. “What was it then? You couldn’t handle the pressure?” Rowan pushed a little bit of malice into his voice, hoping to coax an answer out of her. 

Aelin’s eyes narrowed as she geared up for the spike and hit the ball as hard as she possibly could. She also may have been aiming for Rowan’s face, but she’d never admit that, just like he’d never admit that it didn’t hurt as badly as the smack! that happened made it sound. 

As she stalked out of the gymnasium and threw open the door to the change room she whispered threateningly to Rowan, “you don’t fucking know me. Stop acting like you do.” 

—

 

Not everyone was meeting immediate enemies through a volleyball drill. Others, such as Chaol, met them in chemistry class. Of course, it’s worth noting that he wouldn’t have met this person in the first place - or at least wouldn’t have had to actually talk to them - if he hadn’t been late. And he wouldn’t have been late if Dorian hadn’t insisted on stopping at Starbucks for an overpriced coffee. So really, it’s all Dorian’s fault. 

Chaol walked into room 125, head ducked, hoping that he might be able to slide past the teacher’s radar if he was quick and quiet enough. 

No such luck. The teacher lifted her head and said to Chaol, “Mr. Westfall, how nice of you to join us! You can save your breath and skip the excuses for being late, just take a seat over by the window next to Ms. Towers.” 

Chaol just nodded silently and walked over to the seat she’d designated. Sitting in one of the two stools was a girl probably only a little shorter than him, with light brown skin - not as dark as Nehemia but certainly not white - and a mass of curly brunette hair sitting in a large bun atop her head. 

He took the empty seat and said to her, sticking out a hand, “I’m Chaol.”

Her gaze stayed straight ahead, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Yrene.”

Chaol frowned a little, but shrugged it off. Maybe she’s having a bad day. God knows he’s usually an ass on the first day of school. 

The teacher clapped her hands once, quieting the class. “Alright. It’s the first day of your senior year. Congratulations. Now I’m going to give you 20 minutes to get acquainted with your partner. These are the people you will be working with for the rest of the semester, so it’s in your best interests to get to know them. You’re playing 20 questions, go!”

Chaol turned to Yrene once again. “Do you want to start? Or should I?”

Yrene shrugged. “Don’t care.”

He let out a breath. “Okay then,” he drummed his fingers on the table, trying to think of a question to ask. “Are you new here?”

“Yup,” She answered dryly. “What sport do you play?”

Chaol lifted a brow. “Why do you assume I play any sport?”

An incredulous look from Yrene. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the sweatshirt that says ‘Westfall’ on the sleeve and has a giant number three on the back?” 

He huffed again. “Oh. Sorry.” Yrene nodded her head silently. “Do you play any sports?”

“No.” 

“Am I going to get any answers more than one word?”

“Maybe.”

Chaol groaned lowly. “Can you please tell me what the hell I did to piss you off so fast?”

Yrene clenched her pen so tightly her knuckles went white. “None of your business.”

He scoffed at that. “If it’s something I did, it sure as hell is my business.”

Yrene turned to him for the first time that class. Her brown eyes sparkled with anger. “I’ve got a question for you.” Chaol cocked an eyebrow. “How about you fuck off and leave me alone?” Then she lifted an arm and politely asked the teacher if she could go to the bathroom, leaving Chaol steaming with anger. 

After class was over - an hour and fifteen minutes of silence from both Chaol and Yrene - Chaol stayed behind after all the other students had left the room. 

The teacher peered at him over her glasses. “Can I help you Mr. Westfall?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I was just wondering if it might be possible to switch my lab partner?” He asked feebly. 

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward over her desk. “Chaol, I saw you and Yrene today. You obviously clashed. I get it.” Chaol let out a breath of relief and thanked whoever was listening. “However, that does not mean I’ll be allowing you to switch partners.” His eyes popped out of his head so quickly he probably looked like a bug. “In the real world, you’re going to be partners with people you don’t like. I’m just preparing you for that.” 

-

“In the real world,” Chaol said mockingly, “you’re going to work with people you don’t like,” he pulled at his hair in frustration and Dorian chuckled. 

“What?” He snapped.

Dorian lifted his hands in the air. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were thinking something,” he grumbled. “If college is the ‘real world’ then what the fuck is high school? A fucking daydream?” 

His friend laughed again and shook his head at him. 

“I’m glad you find my frustration amusing Dorian.” Chaol ran a hand through his hair again and turned the corner to the cafeteria. 

-

Lysandra was not liking the new girl. Of course, she hadn’t actually gotten to know her very well - or even said hello - but something about the dark haired Persian girl on the opposite side of the gym was throwing her off. 

“She’s pretty good.” Nehemia came to stand next to Lysandra by the bleachers. “And after last year, we need a good point guard.” It was true. After Aelin had stopped playing for the Royals, the team had fallen apart without a ball handler. If this new girl was even half as good as Aelin had been, they may have a chance this year. 

Kaltain looked at Lysandra and said, “you should go scope her out. See if she’ll mesh with the rest of us.”

She pursed her lip and rolled her eyes but walked towards the girl anyways. 

She had silky black hair, pulled back into two French braids reaching her shoulders. The girl had just fired off a baseline three point shot when Lysandra reached her. 

Swish. 

“Nice shot,” Lysandra calls out to the newcomer. “Trying out?”

The girl turns to her and says, “yeah. I’m Nesryn. Nesryn Faliq.” She holds out a hand and Lysandra shakes it, plastering a smile on her face.

“Lysandra,” she said. “My friends and I were on the team last year. Since freshman year actually.” She gestured to Nehemia and Kaltain and they waved. 

Nesryn chuckled nervously. “That’s not intimidating at all.”

Lysandra forced a laugh and said, “if you keep up that shot that I saw, you’ll be fine. Do you always shoot like that?”

Nesryn grinned. “I don’t miss.” 

The other girl raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Nesryn nodded. “Can you make a three on the left elbow?” 

She sighed, grabbed her ball, and dribbled over to where Lysandra had described. She watched as Nesryn grasped the ball, bent down, and released it. 

Swish. 

When Nesryn turned back, Lysandra was already gone. 

-

“Dude. He’s probably not even that good. I heard he hasn’t played in years,” Chaol said to his friends. They had gathered at the park’s basketball court and were now discussing Aedion’s new favourite topic; Rowan Whitethorn. 

Aedion huffed in exasperation. “The guy was invited to play for team Canada! He’d probably destroy any of us one on one.”

Dorian made a sound of disagreement. “I dunno. He’s about my height, and I’m a pretty good defender.” 

The blond smacked his forehead. “What are you guys not getting about Team Canada?” 

Sartaq stood up. “I’ve gotta agree with Aedion on this one. Anyone who made team Canada in Sophomore year has gotta be amazing.” Dorian looked less than convinced, but he shrugged it off. 

From behind the group came a new, but familiar voice. “You want to test your theory Havilliard?” All five heads turned. The voice belonged to a certain white haired, tan skinned male; Rowan Whitethorn. Clad in a pair of basketball shorts and a plain white shirt, he still managed to look menacing. 

Aedion forgot how to speak, trying to say hi and starting over multiple times. Chaol tried his best to look aloof but only achieved slightly annoyed - which wasn’t inaccurate, just not how he had wanted to present himself. 

Sartaq let out a long exhale, said something about needing to head over to the mosque, or help his mom with dinner, and exited as quickly as possible. He had a sickly feeling that whatever was about to go down wouldn’t be good. 

After all, Dorian Havilliard never could turn down a challenge. 

-

Nesryn loved to run. And she was pretty damn good at it too. She went for a daily four kilometre run every day, did an hour on the treadmill without breaking a sweat, and was always the first one done in gym class run around the track. But even she, Nesryn Faliq, was having trouble catching her breath. 

The coach had made them run 2 suicides, as a warmup, then each girl shot a foul shot, and for every shot missed they ran another. Generally, this wouldn’t be a problem, except for one miniscule detail; there were 40 girls at this tryout. In the end, they ended up running a total of 32 suicides. One of the girls actually fainted and another one threw up. Afterwards, Nehemia did the math - 32 suicides was equal to 160 lengths. 160. Who in the world can sprint 160 lengths? 

“She’s crazy, I know,” Nehemia said as she came to sit down next to Nesryn. “But you get used to it.”

The Persian girl heaved a breath. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to running that much.” She paused and wiped up the sweat on her forehead with a towel. “On the other hand, I’d rather be tired and on a team than not on a team at all, so I guess I’d better get used to it.” 

Lysandra scoffed at that, taking a gulp of water. “Please. We’re so desperate for a decent point guard, coach would probably take you even if you dropped after the first suicide. I’d start thinking about what number you want on your back if I were you.”

“What happened to the last point guard? You guys won OFSAA two years ago, didn’t you?” 

Lysandra and Nehemia shared a glance. After a heartbeat, the latter said, “Aelin quit basketball last year after something happened.”

Nesryn’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened?” 

The two friends looked at each other in silent conversation once more before Lysandra responded, “I think that’s for Aelin to tell you.”

-

The game was close. Dorian was holding his own far better than Aedion had expected him to. Rowan had come out strong, not afraid to show off a little, with fancy moves and crossovers. Dorian wasn’t impressed, however. Though Rowan had made him fall more than a few times, the score was 18-15 for Rowan. The boys had decided to play till 20. 

Rowan took the ball out to the top. Dorian bent down and stared his opponent down, attempting to analyze what his next move would be. Rowan drove Dorian back a few steps, pounding the ball into the pavement as if it had done something to tick him off, before pulling back just behind the three point line and releasing the ball into the air. 

It soared towards the net and bounced off the rim right into Dorian’s waiting arms. He smirked and said to Rowan as he dribbled last him, “ball don’t lie.” Rowan just laughed and motioned for Dorian to make a move to score. 

THe Havilliard assessed the situation and crossed over to his left hand before driving into the lane, going into a reverse layup on the right side. 

Time seemed to slow as the ball left Dorian’s hands. Aedion and Chaol stood, watching wide eyed as their friend easily gets past one of the best players in Canada. 

Time speeds back up again, and there is a loud smack! as Rowan effortlessly blocked Dorian’s shot from going any further than his head. Dorian fell hard on the pavement from the impact of Rowan’s strike and stayed there for a moment, a little bit shaken from the event that had just taken place. 

Rowan leaned down and stuck out a hand. “Get up Havilliard.” Dorian glowered at him. Rowan scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re done after getting stuffed once.”

At that, Dorian pushed himself off the ground, ignoring Rowan’s outstretched hand and grabbed the basketball. He passed it to the other boy hard, and said, “what are you waiting for?”

-

Three years ago, Elide was on her way to the Olympics along with Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel. The Olympics. And then she blew it. 

Gymnastics had been Elide’s whole world since she could walk. Her dad had gone to the Olympics four times, and had coached her until she was 10. Then he was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. He had been adamant that Elide continue her training, and had enlisted her uncle Vernon to coach her from then on. 

After he died, Elide worked her ass off more than ever to make it to the Olympics. When she was in grade eight, Vernon wanted her to learn a new move. A move that would put her above and beyond what judges were expecting. And she did. She trained every day, no matter what, only for it to be ruined at a stupid local competition. 

Vernon thought it would be a good idea for Elide to try a full out - A double salto with a full twist - because if she messed it up it wouldn’t matter as it was an exhibition competition. 

Elide messed up. Bad. She fell and landed on her knee, completely shattering it. Her doctors said it would be too risky for her to ever compete again. So now here she was, back at the Rifthold Elites gymnastics club, teaching a group of eight year olds how to do a front handspring, while Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel trained for an upcoming competition. The three of them hadn’t gone a day without training since hearing about this competition, there would be tons of scouts there, so they had to go with their best moves. Manon, however, was taking it to the next level. She wanted to attempt the Moors - Double-Twisting Double Layout  
on her floor routine. The move is almost unthinkable. Even Victoria Moors, who the move is named after, had a weak landing when she competed with it. If Manon had one miscalculation, it could seriously mess up her chances with a scout. Not to mention how she could injure herself and be out of the game forever. Elide, Asterin, Sorrel, and Coach Ren had tried to convince Manon not to do it. Too much could go wrong. But Manon, in typical Manon fashion, hadn’t listened. She was determined to get it.

Elide took her attention off of the kids for a minute as she glanced over at Manon. She was on her ass on the blue mats, having fallen yet again attempting to do the move. Elide saw Coach come over, say something to Manon. Manon glared at him before pulling herself up, dusting herself off, and getting into position once again.

She fell the second time.

And the third.

And every time after that.

And every time she got up off her ass, dusted herself off, and got into position again.

_

 

The game ended with Rowan sinking a three pointer right over Dorian’s head. The score had been 20-19. Close enough for Dorian to say that Rowan hadn’t been as good as they all thought.

“Come on! I lost by one point! And I was in the lead for most of it!”he exclaimed to his friends once Rowan had left. 

Aedion snickered. “Yeah and he crossed you more times than i could count.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. Aedion grinned. “What’s that face for?” the first boy asked.

“Did you notice which hand is his dominant?”

 

Dorian thought about it. “Yeah,” he said, “he’s a leftie. Not gonna lie, that could be really useful to have on the team.”

 

Aedion nodded, his smile growing wider. “Sorry to tell you, but Rowan’s right handed.” Lorcan called out. “He was going easy on you, trying to practice his form with his left hand.”

The Havilliard stared blankly as the information processed. “He beat me, using his weak hand?”

Aedion nodded enthusiastically again. “Still think he’s not worth the hype?”

-

“Gavriel I need a small caramel frappe and a large vanilla macchiato!” Aelin called over her shoulder.

Her coworker answered immediately, “Got it!”

Every teenager’s dream job. Starbucks. Well, no, it wasn’t really anybody’s dream jobs, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? And at least she had Gavriel to keep her sane amidst the smell of coffee and the rude customers who were always in. especially the white girls who ordered a frappuccino every. Single. Day. honestly, if they knew what was in those things, they’d stop buying them before she got past the third ingredient. Lord knows she did. And don’t even start about the regulars. Who the fuck is stupid enough to spend six dollars on a glorified coffee every day? Just go to Tim Hortons if you’re too lazy to make your own at home.

As Gavriel made that disgusting concoction from hell called a frappuccino, Aelin spotted a few familiar faces enter the store. Manon, Elide, Asterin, and Sorrel. Aelin and Manon had a … rocky relationship at first, but once they got past first impressions, they realized that they had more in common then not. Which is probably why they clashed so badly in the first place.  
Elide came up to the counter, and after saying hello, asked for a small caramel frappuccino. Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel all ordered macchiatos, and Aelin made a face. “Elide, I don’t understand how you can still drink those things after I told you what’s in them.” she shuddered. “And you three,” she pointed to the trio, “better not let me catch you ever ordering one of them because I won’t let you ruin all your training for that shit.”

 

Manon nodded and Asterin jokingly saluted. “Yes ma'am.”

“I’m serious.” she deadpanned. “By the way, how is training coming? Don’t you have a big comp coming up?”

 

Sorrel answered, “yeah, it’s going great, except Manon’s been spending half of practice on her ass lately.”

 

Manon glared at her. Aelin nodded. “Still tryna land that impossible move?” 

“It’s not impossible. Just..” she trailed off.

“I get it. It’ll take a while.” Aelin turned around and grabbed the drinks from Gavriel, who winked at the girls as he always does, before Aelin slaps him and tells him to get back to work. She hands the girls their drinks and says. “Just keep practicing, stop drinking this shit, and you’ll get it eventually.”


	3. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment pls pls pls?
> 
> say hi on tumblr maybe? idk? @blackkbeak

Sartaq couldn’t stop thinking about Sam Cortland. Couldn’t stop visualizing his eyes, his hair, his build. The way his lips quirked up when Aelin told him a joke. How he’d punch anyone who made fun of his friends. The way he weaved through five defensemen and made it look effortless. But he mostly couldn’t stop remembering the last look on his face before he died. 

And how it was all his fault. 

The mosque was both Sartaq’s safe place and not. 

He’d grown up going to an Islamic elementary school. Once he hit grade 9 and started at Rifthold High, Sartaq just .. lost touch. With his old friends, his faith, everything. Basketball distracted him from that fact. He made it his life. Until the end of tenth grade. 

June 10th, 2016. 

7:17 pm. 

_ Sartaq went to the mosque to pick up some books for his mom. Brother Mazen asked him to clean after himself and lock up.  _

_ He left with the books, and got halfway home when he realized he’d forgotten something.  _

_ The candles and lanterns were still lit.  _

_ It would’ve been fine. Nothing would’ve happened. Except, he remembered, as he left the hall, he had knocked something over.  _

_ Shit.  _

**_Shit._ **

_ He’d knocked over a fucking lit candle.  _

_Sartaq turned around and rushed back to the mosque. As he got to the parking lot, he saw the building up in flames. Firemen had arrived on site_ _already and one was running into the building._

_ He approached one of the firemen and asked urgently, “what’s he going in for?”  _

_ The man responded, “there’s a guy still in there. A bookcase fell on him.” _

_ What _

_ The  _

_ Fuck _

_ Sartaq was the only one in there when he left. He’d made sure of that.  _

_ The fireman emerged from the building, carrying a boy about his age in his arms. Sartaq squinted. He recognized the jacket. Royals. That means it was one of his teammates.  _

“Sartaq!” He looked up from the memorial the mosque had put up after the fire. The imam was calling his name from across the hall. 

He crossed the floor to the sheikh. “What’s up?” 

“There’s a girl here looking for resources about Islam for a school project,” he answered. “Can you help her out? I have to sort out some stuff.”

Sartaq exhaled heavily. “Sure.” The man raised a brow. “Sorry, I was just - 

“Sartaq, you have to move past it. It’s been a year and a half. You’ve gotta forgive yourself.” He thumped Sartaq on the back, gave him a smile, and walked towards the office. 

After the fire, Imam Zaid had been Sartaq’s confidante. He had worked with him to fix a lot of what he’d done in the past two years and managed to help him through it without his parents finding out anything that he wouldn’t want them to know. 

Now, Sartaq worked at the mosque helping Zaid redo the library and with the website. Mainly he filtered through the questions sent to the anonymous form and deleted any doubles before forwarding them to Zaid. 

Apparently giving people crash courses on religion was part of the job description as well. 

Sartaq ran a hand through his hair and walked towards the entrance. Standing in front of one of the pillars, lips pursed in thought, was a girl he recognized as the new point guard for the Royals girls’ team. 

“Hey,” he said as he approached her. “Nesryn right?” 

She turned towards him, dark hair falling in front of her face as she does. She brushed it out of the way. “Yeah.” She stretched out a hand. “Do I know you?”

He shook her hand. “I go to Rifthold High. I recognized you from basketball. I’m Sartaq.”

“Cool.” She says slowly. “So, you’re Muslim?”

Sartaq nodded. “Yep. My dad’s Persian and my mom’s Palestinian.”

Nesryn’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s so cool, I’m almost the same.” The two shared a laugh before Nesryn asked, “so do you pray five times a day?”

Sartaq froze. “Uhm I -

“It’s one of your five pillars right?” She interrupted. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sartaq tried to explain. 

“Oh?” Nesryn said, “tell me about that.”

_ 

Elide sat with her boyfriend in an empty classroom before first period, proofreading his essay on The Great Gatsby. She sighed as she finished and put the paper down onto the desk. 

Lorcan groaned and covered his face with his hands. “You hate it.”

“I do not hate it,” Elide hesitated. “It just - it just needs some work.”

He looked up. “So in other words, you hate it,” he said dryly. Elide gave him a helpless look. “Elide, if  I can’t even write a summer reading essay, how the fuck am I supposed to get into a good university? You’re living proof that I can’t be placing my bets on a gymnastics scholarship. What happens if I fall, like you did? I’m obviously shit at everything else and -

Elide turned to him and said firmly, “I said it needs some work. so we’re going to work on it until it’s at the level it can be.”

Lorcan took a deep breath and dragged his hands down his face. “Okay. Okay, what can I do to fix this?”

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed a pen. “Well, first of all, maybe we can talk less about Leo Dicaprio and more about the actual novel?” her boyfriend nodded along. “And then, over here, you were making a great point about Gatsby’s abusive nature, so if you expand on that - 

Elide was cut off by a breathless Aedion running into the classroom and knocking over a stack of chairs. He winced at the crash before saying - almost incomprehensibly - “dude, tryouts start in like five minutes do you know where Sartaq is?”

Lorcan jumped off the desk and grabbed his paper. “No he’s not the gym?” 

Aedion shook his head, his blond hair swinging around messily. 

“He said that he’s going to be at the mosque this morning to help organize some books or something,” Elide chirped in. 

Aedion ran over to her and hugged her tightly, earning a small growl from Lorcan that Aedion promptly ignored. “Elide you are a lifesaver and you can do much much better than Lorcan!”

Elide giggled at her boyfriend’s annoyance that fizzled out when Aedion yelled a quick, “Lorcan I’m kidding!” as he ran out the door. 

_

“Thanks for answering all these questions,” Nesryn said to Sartaq as she closed her notebook and stuck her pen in the coil. “It helps when you’re talking to someone who isn’t just saying what they think is best for their image.”   
Sartaq shook his head and offered her a small smile. “No problem. If you need anything else, just ask Zaid, he’ll take care of it.”

Nesryn nodded, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth to say something, but just as she began, the pair was interrupted by Zaid coming in with a look on his face that meant he was trying his best not to crack a smile. “Sartaq,” he said. “Aedion’s here. You’re late for tryouts.”

Sartaq grabbed his hair and started packing up his things urgently. “Shit!” he said under his breath. Zaid coughed loudly. “Uhhh - crap, I meant crap!” he quickly backtracked and dialed back the profanity.

As he ran out of the library to catch up with Aedion, Zaid yelled to him, “and you can let Aedion know that he’s always welcome here, but we’d prefer if he doesn’t use the ladies’ wud’oo station as a water fountain!”

Nesryn burst out laughing behind him. 

 

-

In the six years that he’d played for the Rifthold Royals, Sartaq had never been late. Not for a game, not for a practice, and certainly not for a tryout. 

There’s a first for everything. 

Aedion pelted him with question after question as they jumped on the subway towards the school. 

“Isn’t that the new girl?”

“Lys said she’s trying out for the girls’ team.”

“Why were you guys talking …. ARE YOU GOING OUT WITH HER?!”

Aedion had always been the guy out of the team who stuck with him when he was going through a ‘spiritual glo up’ as Aedion liked to call it. He said no for him when someone would ask Sartaq if he wanted a drink, told old hookups that Sartaq was busy studying with him when they’d ask to hang out. Zaid basically considered him an honorary Muslim after all the time he’d spent with Sartaq rebuilding the mosque. How his friend still managed to drink out of the women’s bathrooms, Sartaq would never fathom the answer. 

Sartaq answered all of Aedion’s questions. “No I’m not going out with her, she’s doing an assignment on this generation of Muslim teens for world religions class and I was the only teen in the building. Yes she’s trying out for Rifthold this year. Her school won WOSSA last year.” 

 

The boys hopped off at their stop and ran towards the entrance closest to the school’s gym. 

As they entered the gym, duffel bags in hand, all 40 boys turned to look at the late arrivals. 

Aedion put his hands in the air. “Nothing to see here kids, I was just grabbing Sartaq.” Coach Brullo raised an eyebrow at Aedion’s excuse. “What? Better late than never right?”

Sartaq rolled his eyes and focused on tying his shoes as quickly as possible. 

As the pair did their dynamic warmup, Aedion noticed a head of white hair in the corner of the gym. Rowan Whitethorn had arrived. While the rest of the players were reeling from exhaustion after the warmup suicides Coach Brullo always assigned, Rowan was aloof, scanning the gym before his eyes landed on Sartaq and Aedion - and locked eyes with them as they had frozen mid lunge to stare at him.

“Shit!” Aedion breathed, snapping his gaze away from Rowan and towards the front of the gym. “He saw us staring at him.”

Sartaq huffed a laugh as they turned around and started stretching their hamstrings. “Dude if you have a crush on him just say so and put Lys out of her misery.”   
“Recognizing that a man is absolutely gorgeous is not the same as having a crush on him.” he countered.

“Sure, whatever makes you feel better.”

“Fine.”Aedion looked at his friend. “What about Nesryn?”   
“What about her?”   
“Do you find her attractive?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you think that she’s pretty?”

Sartaq hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

Aedion nodded. “And do you have a crush on her?”

He had no hesitation this time. “I just met the girl, no I do not have a crush on her!”

Aedion had opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get any words out, Brullo yelled at them that they owed him four suicides within the next five minutes, so they better shut their pie holes and start running.

_

Everybody has their outlets; basketball, art, boxing, writing, gymnastics. Everybody has something that they do when they’re pissed off, or sad, or nervous. Aelin’s outlet used to be basketball. It had always been basketball. When she did badly on a test, or couldn’t get her ear training quite right, she would go outside and pound a basketball into the pavement hard enough that she’d forget whatever it was she was upset about. Sometimes Sam could hear the echoes of the ball from his house down the street and he’d come out and play HORSE or 21. She always won. As they got older she realized that he’d let her win because he knew she was pissed off. Which explained why she could never beat him at school, but somehow she always did on her driveway.

After the fire, basketball was what she needed to get away from. It was no longer an outlet, she would look at her old trophies and want to throw up. A couple of times she did. Music had been a part of Aelin’s life even longer than basketball. Her parents loved the piano, so they put both her and Aedion in lessons once they turned five. Aedion hated it, and was horrible. Aelin loved it, and she was amazing. She loved the feeling of her fingers dancing over the keys and the sound of the notes emerging. Piano became her outlet. She started composing her own music - most of it angry, some of it sad, none of it happy at first - and learned that she was good at that too. In junior year, she stopped playing for the Royals and focused all her energy into music. 

That year, Aelin was offered a spot in an elite summer program for emerging composers. In Paris. 

So she had spent her summer playing on some of the most beautiful pianos she had ever seen, learning from the best composers of today, and roaming the city of love. Of course, she would be lying if she said that the only reason she went was to become a better pianist. At the end of the year, Chaol and Aelin had a … fight, if you could call it that. And instead of staying an dealing with it, she left. To France. The picnic on Labour Day was the first time they had seen each other since the last day of school. It was less awkward than Aelin had expected. Lysandra and Nehemia told her that Chaol had been hooking up with Nesryn over the summer. Until the first day of school, none of them had a face to match the name with. Surprisingly, Aelin didn’t care, she was over the breakup, and if Chaol was happy with Nesryn, then he was happy. But if she hurt him, Aelin cared enough about him that she would make Nesryn very, very sorry.

The music program had been everything that Aelin could’ve asked for. And yet, as she sat down on the bench at her teacher’s piano, she couldn’t find the words to describe the experience to any extent. So when Ms. Florine asked Aelin to tell her everything, she only responded with a weak, “it was good.”

Aelin’s weak response was met with Ms. Florine giving an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows, before she said, “take out your repertoire. Your exam will be in January, and the recital is November 15th.”

Aelin did as she was told. She took out her repertoire books, and played the pieces she had chosen almost to perfection. She took out her study books, and did the same. She took out her technique book, and played every scale, every triad, and every chord exactly how she should. When she was finished, after 30 minutes, she turned to Florine for a reaction.

“That was horrible.” was al her teacher said.

Aelin’s eyes bulged. “ _ Horrible? _ It was perfect!”

“Exactly,” Ms. Florine said in a way that anyone else might describe as bored, Aelin knew that she was frustrated. “Its _ too  _ perfect.”

“What the hell does ‘too perfect’ mean?”

“It means that I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but something has you rattled. And you’re playing it too safe. No examiner is going to be impressed by just playing the notes. Music is supposed to make you feel something. So go get yourself together, and when you come back next week, make me feel something.” 

_   
  


Rowan Whitethorn was more impressed than he cared to admit. Sure, he was easily the best in the gym, but its not always about skill. People say the whole ‘hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard’ shit for a reason. And it turns out the Rifthold Royals are a big fan of hard work. The coach would throw suicide after suicide at the boys, and each time somebody dropped, but there were four boys who ran as hard as their legs would let them, even if it meant that they’d probably end up getting sick after practice. Chaol, Dorian, Aedion, and Sartaq were very clearly a team. They knew where the others would be on the court, they knew exactly when to set a screen, when to run a play without any of them yelling. They were one player short of an unstoppable lineup.

“Sam Cortland,” somebody said beside Rowan. He turned to look and found Aedion staring at him intently.

“Excuse me?” Rowan asked. Who the hell is Sam Cortland, and why was Aedion telling him about him.

“You said that we were one player short of an unstoppable lineup,” Aedion explained.  _ Shit. _ had he said that out loud? Aedion continued, oblivious to Rowan’s internal thoughts, “Sam was our fifth. He was point guard. We won provincials two years ago. So did the girls.”   
Rowan waited for Aedion to explain, and when he didn’t, Rowan asked, “so where is he?”

Just then, Brullo blew the whistle and caled to line up on the baseline. Jogging away, Aedion simply said, “he died at the end of sophomore year.”

The white haired boy was left standing speechless before shaking himself out of it and running over to join Aedion. “What do you mean he died?” Rowan said through gritted teeth. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that on someone and walk away.”

Aedion looked at him and responded quietly, “dude shut up, Brullo’s explaining this drill and I’m not tryna run any extra suicides because you can’t wait one minute for me to explain.”

Brullo called out for the four boys who had played last year. “We need a fifth!” Dorian called out as they stepped into their places around the three point line.

A boy stepped forward. “I can be the fifth!” Rowan noticed the four players chuckling quietly, Dorian shaking his head at the kid. “I remember this drill from last year.”   
Coach thought about it. “Whitethorn, come stand at the top of the key. Roland, you’re going to be on the other side so that you can show the other boys how to do it.” His tone reminded Rowan of when he was little and his mom would tell him to get out of the way but would make him think that he was actually doing something. It worked, the boy - who Rowan would later learn is Roland Havilliard - lit up like a christmas tree and stood taller immediately.

Rowan went to go stand where he was instructed, and listened as Brullo explained the pass, cut, replace, drill. As the five players ran the play, it became increasingly clearer just how well these guys knew each other. Basketball was a sport of communication. Yelling for the ball, when you need help, you have to talk to your teammates. The four players only called out to Rowan. They knew exactly what they were doing, when they were doing it. Even when one of them made a backdoor cut that wasn’t in the play, the others shifted and got the ball to the open player right on time. If this was the lineup that they would have, the Royals might actually have a chance of taking back their provincial title.

After practice, the boys sat in the corner, packing up their things. They were laughing about Roland’s attempt to get on the starting lineup. “Did you see the look on his face?” Dorian was saying, “Brullo looked scared for a sec that he wouldn’t have a reason to say no.”   
“Yeah thank god that you were there dude,” Aedion nudged Rowan lightly, “Roland’s a total ball hog, he lost us the first playoff game last year.”

Rowan breathed out a ‘yeah’, before saying, “so is anyone gonna explain what happened with Sam Cortland, or?”   
All four boys froze in their spots. They exchanged glances before Dorian, Sartaq, and Chaol all looked at each other, and, at the exact same time, threw their basketballs at Aedion. The blond hollered in protest. “What was I supposed to do? He asked about the team?”   
_ Actually I didn’t _ , Rowan thought,  _ but whatever. _

After they had finished with their assault on their friend, the boys turned to look at Rowan. Dorian was the first to explain. “There was a fire. June of tenth grade. Sam was in the mosque when it happened, a bookcase fell on his back when he was running out.”

Sartaq had gone silent, and it didn’t go unnoticed to Rowan. He dropped it, despite the feeling that there was probably more to the story than Dorian had told. 

Aedion cleared the silence. “So who wants to buy me a coffee from Tim’s? I have two essays due tomorrow and I haven’t started either.”

_

After her piano lesson, Aelin had called Nehemia and Lysandra for a distraction, and they had both suggested a trip to the mall, for some therapy shopping. Aelin had agreed, on the condition that there would be no Starbucks involved whatsoever. Lysandra had almost backed out at that.

“So how did tryouts go?”  Aelin asked, sipping her iced coffee - that she had bought from Tim Hortons, and definitely not Starbucks.

“Really good actually,” Nehemia replied, “that Nesryn Faliq girl came out, she’s really good.”   
Lysandra rolled her eyes. “She’s decent.” Nehemia gave her a look. “She’s not you, Aelin, which is what we need to win provincials this year.”

“Well,” Aelin said flatly, “I’m not playing. So I guess you should just take the Faliq girl and thank the stars that the team won’t be complete shit this year.”

And that was the end of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe oops hiatus sorry bout that lolz
> 
> talk to me on tumblr! @blackkbeak

Sartaq couldn’t stop thinking about Sam Cortland. Couldn’t stop visualizing his eyes, his hair, his build. The way his lips quirked up when Aelin told him a joke. How he’d punch anyone who made fun of his friends. The way he weaved through five defensemen and made it look effortless. But he mostly couldn’t stop remembering the last look on his face before he died. 

And how it was all his fault. 

The mosque was both Sartaq’s safe place and not. 

He’d grown up going to an Islamic elementary school. Once he hit grade 9 and started at Rifthold High, Sartaq just .. lost touch. With his old friends, his faith, everything. Basketball distracted him from that fact. He made it his life. Until the end of tenth grade. 

June 10th, 2016. 

7:17 pm. 

Sartaq went to the mosque to pick up some books for his mom. Brother Mazen asked him to clean after himself and lock up. 

He left with the books, and got halfway home when he realized he’d forgotten something. 

The candles and lanterns were still lit. 

It would’ve been fine. Nothing would’ve happened. Except, he remembered, as he left the hall, he had knocked something over. 

Shit. 

Shit. 

He’d knocked over a fucking lit candle. 

Sartaq turned around and rushed back to the mosque. As he got to the parking lot, he saw the building up in flames. Firemen had arrived on site already and one was running into the building. 

He approached one of the firemen and asked urgently, “what’s he going in for?” 

The man responded, “there’s a guy still in there. A bookcase fell on him.”

What

The 

Fuck

Sartaq was the only one in there when he left. He’d made sure of that. 

The fireman emerged from the building, carrying a boy about his age in his arms. Sartaq squinted. He recognized the jacket. Royals. That means it was one of his teammates. 

“Sartaq!” He looked up from the memorial the mosque had put up after the fire. The imam was calling his name from across the hall. 

He crossed the floor to the sheikh. “What’s up?” 

“There’s a girl here looking for resources about Islam for a school project,” he answered. “Can you help her out? I have to sort out some stuff.”

Sartaq exhaled heavily. “Sure.” The man raised a brow. “Sorry, I was just - 

“Sartaq, you have to move past it. It’s been a year and a half. You’ve gotta forgive yourself.” He thumped Sartaq on the back, gave him a smile, and walked towards the office. 

After the fire, Imam Zaid had been Sartaq’s confidante. He had worked with him to fix a lot of what he’d done in the past two years and managed to help him through it without his parents finding out anything that he wouldn’t want them to know. 

Now, Sartaq worked at the mosque helping Zaid redo the library and with the website. Mainly he filtered through the questions sent to the anonymous form and deleted any doubles before forwarding them to Zaid. 

Apparently giving people crash courses on religion was part of the job description as well. 

Sartaq ran a hand through his hair and walked towards the entrance. Standing in front of one of the pillars, lips pursed in thought, was a girl he recognized as the new point guard for the Royals girls’ team. 

“Hey,” he said as he approached her. “Nesryn right?” 

She turned towards him, dark hair falling in front of her face as she does. She brushed it out of the way. “Yeah.” She stretched out a hand. “Do I know you?”

He shook her hand. “I go to Rifthold High. I recognized you from basketball. I’m Sartaq.”

“Cool.” She says slowly. “So, you’re Muslim?”

Sartaq nodded. “Yep. My dad’s Persian and my mom’s Palestinian.”

Nesryn’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s so cool, I’m almost the same.” The two shared a laugh before Nesryn asked, “so do you pray five times a day?”

Sartaq froze. “Uhm I -

“It’s one of your five pillars right?” She interrupted. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Sartaq tried to explain. 

“Oh?” Nesryn said, “tell me about that.”

_ 

Elide sat with her boyfriend in an empty classroom before first period, proofreading his essay on The Great Gatsby. She sighed as she finished and put the paper down onto the desk. 

Lorcan groaned and covered his face with his hands. “You hate it.”

“I do not hate it,” Elide hesitated. “It just - it just needs some work.”

He looked up. “So in other words, you hate it,” he said dryly. Elide gave him a helpless look. “Elide, if I can’t even write a summer reading essay, how the fuck am I supposed to get into a good university? You’re living proof that I can’t be placing my bets on a gymnastics scholarship. What happens if I fall, like you did? I’m obviously shit at everything else and -

Elide turned to him and said firmly, “I said it needs some work. so we’re going to work on it until it’s at the level it can be.”

Lorcan took a deep breath and dragged his hands down his face. “Okay. Okay, what can I do to fix this?”

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed a pen. “Well, first of all, maybe we can talk less about Leo Dicaprio and more about the actual novel?” her boyfriend nodded along. “And then, over here, you were making a great point about Gatsby’s abusive nature, so if you expand on that - 

Elide was cut off by a breathless Aedion running into the classroom and knocking over a stack of chairs. He winced at the crash before saying - almost incomprehensibly - “dude, tryouts start in like five minutes do you know where Sartaq is?”

Lorcan jumped off the desk and grabbed his paper. “No he’s not the gym?” 

Aedion shook his head, his blond hair swinging around messily. 

“He said that he’s going to be at the mosque this morning to help organize some books or something,” Elide chirped in. 

Aedion ran over to her and hugged her tightly, earning a small growl from Lorcan that Aedion promptly ignored. “Elide you are a lifesaver and you can do much much better than Lorcan!”

Elide giggled at her boyfriend’s annoyance that fizzled out when Aedion yelled a quick, “Lorcan I’m kidding!” as he ran out the door. 

_

“Thanks for answering all these questions,” Nesryn said to Sartaq as she closed her notebook and stuck her pen in the coil. “It helps when you’re talking to someone who isn’t just saying what they think is best for their image.”

 

Sartaq shook his head and offered her a small smile. “No problem. If you need anything else, just ask Zaid, he’ll take care of it.”

Nesryn nodded, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth to say something, but just as she began, the pair was interrupted by Zaid coming in with a look on his face that meant he was trying his best not to crack a smile. “Sartaq,” he said. “Aedion’s here. You’re late for tryouts.”

 

Sartaq grabbed his hair and started packing up his things urgently. “Shit!” he said under his breath. Zaid coughed loudly. “Uhhh - crap, I meant crap!” he quickly backtracked and dialed back the profanity.

As he ran out of the library to catch up with Aedion, Zaid yelled to him, “and you can let Aedion know that he’s always welcome here, but we’d prefer if he doesn’t use the ladies’ wud’oo station as a water fountain!”

Nesryn burst out laughing behind him. 

-

In the six years that he’d played for the Rifthold Royals, Sartaq had never been late. Not for a game, not for a practice, and certainly not for a tryout. 

There’s a first for everything. 

Aedion pelted him with question after question as they jumped on the subway towards the school. 

“Isn’t that the new girl?”

“Lys said she’s trying out for the girls’ team.”

“Why were you guys talking …. ARE YOU GOING OUT WITH HER?!”

Aedion had always been the guy out of the team who stuck with him when he was going through a ‘spiritual glo up’ as Aedion liked to call it. He said no for him when someone would ask Sartaq if he wanted a drink, told old hookups that Sartaq was busy studying with him when they’d ask to hang out. Zaid basically considered him an honorary Muslim after all the time he’d spent with Sartaq rebuilding the mosque. How his friend still managed to drink out of the women’s bathrooms, Sartaq would never fathom the answer. 

Sartaq answered all of Aedion’s questions. “No I’m not going out with her, she’s doing an assignment on this generation of Muslim teens for world religions class and I was the only teen in the building. Yes she’s trying out for Rifthold this year. Her school won WOSSA last year.” 

The boys hopped off at their stop and ran towards the entrance closest to the school’s gym. 

As they entered the gym, duffel bags in hand, all 40 boys turned to look at the late arrivals. 

Aedion put his hands in the air. “Nothing to see here kids, I was just grabbing Sartaq.” Coach Brullo raised an eyebrow at Aedion’s excuse. “What? Better late than never right?”

Sartaq rolled his eyes and focused on tying his shoes as quickly as possible. 

As the pair did their dynamic warmup, Aedion noticed a head of white hair in the corner of the gym. Rowan Whitethorn had arrived. While the rest of the players were reeling from exhaustion after the warmup suicides Coach Brullo always assigned, Rowan was aloof, scanning the gym before his eyes landed on Sartaq and Aedion - and locked eyes with them as they had frozen mid lunge to stare at him.

“Shit!” Aedion breathed, snapping his gaze away from Rowan and towards the front of the gym. “He saw us staring at him.”

Sartaq huffed a laugh as they turned around and started stretching their hamstrings. “Dude if you have a crush on him just say so and put Lys out of her misery.”

 

“Recognizing that a man is absolutely gorgeous is not the same as having a crush on him.” he countered.

“Sure, whatever makes you feel better.”

 

“Fine.”Aedion looked at his friend. “What about Nesryn?”

 

“What about her?”

 

“Do you find her attractive?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Do you think that she’s pretty?”

Sartaq hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess.”

 

Aedion nodded. “And do you have a crush on her?”

He had no hesitation this time. “I just met the girl, no I do not have a crush on her!”

Aedion had opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get any words out, Brullo yelled at them that they owed him four suicides within the next five minutes, so they better shut their pie holes and start running.

_

Everybody has their outlets; basketball, art, boxing, writing, gymnastics. Everybody has something that they do when they’re pissed off, or sad, or nervous. Aelin’s outlet used to be basketball. It had always been basketball. When she did badly on a test, or couldn’t get her ear training quite right, she would go outside and pound a basketball into the pavement hard enough that she’d forget whatever it was she was upset about. Sometimes Sam could hear the echoes of the ball from his house down the street and he’d come out and play HORSE or 21. She always won. As they got older she realized that he’d let her win because he knew she was pissed off. Which explained why she could never beat him at school, but somehow she always did on her driveway.

After the fire, basketball was what she needed to get away from. It was no longer an outlet, she would look at her old trophies and want to throw up. A couple of times she did. Music had been a part of Aelin’s life even longer than basketball. Her parents loved the piano, so they put both her and Aedion in lessons once they turned five. Aedion hated it, and was horrible. Aelin loved it, and she was amazing. She loved the feeling of her fingers dancing over the keys and the sound of the notes emerging. Piano became her outlet. She started composing her own music - most of it angry, some of it sad, none of it happy at first - and learned that she was good at that too. In junior year, she stopped playing for the Royals and focused all her energy into music. 

That year, Aelin was offered a spot in an elite summer program for emerging composers. In Paris. 

So she had spent her summer playing on some of the most beautiful pianos she had ever seen, learning from the best composers of today, and roaming the city of love. Of course, she would be lying if she said that the only reason she went was to become a better pianist. At the end of the year, Chaol and Aelin had a … fight, if you could call it that. And instead of staying an dealing with it, she left. To France. The picnic on Labour Day was the first time they had seen each other since the last day of school. It was less awkward than Aelin had expected. Lysandra and Nehemia told her that Chaol had been hooking up with Nesryn over the summer. Until the first day of school, none of them had a face to match the name with. Surprisingly, Aelin didn’t care, she was over the breakup, and if Chaol was happy with Nesryn, then he was happy. But if she hurt him, Aelin cared enough about him that she would make Nesryn very, very sorry.

The music program had been everything that Aelin could’ve asked for. And yet, as she sat down on the bench at her teacher’s piano, she couldn’t find the words to describe the experience to any extent. So when Ms. Florine asked Aelin to tell her everything, she only responded with a weak, “it was good.”

Aelin’s weak response was met with Ms. Florine giving an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows, before she said, “take out your repertoire. Your exam will be in January, and the recital is November 15th.”

Aelin did as she was told. She took out her repertoire books, and played the pieces she had chosen almost to perfection. She took out her study books, and did the same. She took out her technique book, and played every scale, every triad, and every chord exactly how she should. When she was finished, after 30 minutes, she turned to Florine for a reaction.

“That was horrible.” was al her teacher said.

Aelin’s eyes bulged. “Horrible? It was perfect!”

 

“Exactly,” Ms. Florine said in a way that anyone else might describe as bored, Aelin knew that she was frustrated. “Its too perfect.”

“What the hell does ‘too perfect’ mean?”

“It means that I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but something has you rattled. And you’re playing it too safe. No examiner is going to be impressed by just playing the notes. Music is supposed to make you feel something. So go get yourself together, and when you come back next week, make me feel something.” 

_

 

Rowan Whitethorn was more impressed than he cared to admit. Sure, he was easily the best in the gym, but its not always about skill. People say the whole ‘hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard’ shit for a reason. And it turns out the Rifthold Royals are a big fan of hard work. The coach would throw suicide after suicide at the boys, and each time somebody dropped, but there were four boys who ran as hard as their legs would let them, even if it meant that they’d probably end up getting sick after practice. Chaol, Dorian, Aedion, and Sartaq were very clearly a team. They knew where the others would be on the court, they knew exactly when to set a screen, when to run a play without any of them yelling. They were one player short of an unstoppable lineup.

“Sam Cortland,” somebody said beside Rowan. He turned to look and found Aedion staring at him intently.

“Excuse me?” Rowan asked. Who the hell is Sam Cortland, and why was Aedion telling him about him.

“You said that we were one player short of an unstoppable lineup,” Aedion explained. Shit. had he said that out loud? Aedion continued, oblivious to Rowan’s internal thoughts, “Sam was our fifth. He was point guard. We won provincials two years ago. So did the girls.”

 

Rowan waited for Aedion to explain, and when he didn’t, Rowan asked, “so where is he?”

Just then, Brullo blew the whistle and caled to line up on the baseline. Jogging away, Aedion simply said, “he died at the end of sophomore year.”

The white haired boy was left standing speechless before shaking himself out of it and running over to join Aedion. “What do you mean he died?” Rowan said through gritted teeth. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that on someone and walk away.”

Aedion looked at him and responded quietly, “dude shut up, Brullo’s explaining this drill and I’m not tryna run any extra suicides because you can’t wait one minute for me to explain.”

Brullo called out for the four boys who had played last year. “We need a fifth!” Dorian called out as they stepped into their places around the three point line.

A boy stepped forward. “I can be the fifth!” Rowan noticed the four players chuckling quietly, Dorian shaking his head at the kid. “I remember this drill from last year.”

Coach thought about it. “Whitethorn, come stand at the top of the key. Roland, you’re going to be on the other side so that you can show the other boys how to do it.” His tone reminded Rowan of when he was little and his mom would tell him to get out of the way but would make him think that he was actually doing something. It worked, the boy - who Rowan would later learn is Roland Havilliard - lit up like a christmas tree and stood taller immediately.

Rowan went to go stand where he was instructed, and listened as Brullo explained the pass, cut, replace, drill. As the five players ran the play, it became increasingly clearer just how well these guys knew each other. Basketball was a sport of communication. Yelling for the ball, when you need help, you have to talk to your teammates. The four players only called out to Rowan. They knew exactly what they were doing, when they were doing it. Even when one of them made a backdoor cut that wasn’t in the play, the others shifted and got the ball to the open player right on time. If this was the lineup that they would have, the Royals might actually have a chance of taking back their provincial title.

After practice, the boys sat in the corner, packing up their things. They were laughing about Roland’s attempt to get on the starting lineup. “Did you see the look on his face?” Dorian was saying, “Brullo looked scared for a sec that he wouldn’t have a reason to say no.”

“Yeah thank god that you were there dude,” Aedion nudged Rowan lightly, “Roland’s a total ball hog, he lost us the first playoff game last year.”

Rowan breathed out a ‘yeah’, before saying, “so is anyone gonna explain what happened with Sam Cortland, or?”

All four boys froze in their spots. They exchanged glances before Dorian, Sartaq, and Chaol all looked at each other, and, at the exact same time, threw their basketballs at Aedion. The blond hollered in protest. “What was I supposed to do? He asked about the team?”

Actually I didn’t, Rowan thought, but whatever.

After they had finished with their assault on their friend, the boys turned to look at Rowan. Dorian was the first to explain. “There was a fire. June of tenth grade. Sam was in the mosque when it happened, a bookcase fell on his back when he was running out.”

Sartaq had gone silent, and it didn’t go unnoticed to Rowan. He dropped it, despite the feeling that there was probably more to the story than Dorian had told. 

Aedion cleared the silence. “So who wants to buy me a coffee from Tim’s? I have two essays due tomorrow and I haven’t started either.”

_

After her piano lesson, Aelin had called Nehemia and Lysandra for a distraction, and they had both suggested a trip to the mall, for some therapy shopping. Aelin had agreed, on the condition that there would be no Starbucks involved whatsoever. Lysandra had almost backed out at that.

“So how did tryouts go?” Aelin asked, sipping her iced coffee - that she had bought from Tim Hortons, and definitely not Starbucks.

“Really good actually,” Nehemia replied, “that Nesryn Faliq girl came out, she’s really good.”

 

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “She’s decent.” Nehemia gave her a look. “She’s not you, Aelin, which is what we need to win provincials this year.”

“Well,” Aelin said flatly, “I’m not playing. So I guess you should just take the Faliq girl and thank the stars that the team won’t be complete shit this year.”

And that was the end of it.


End file.
